


Searching for Safety

by Maxwell_Daugherty



Category: Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Child!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Muteness, POV Female Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 07:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxwell_Daugherty/pseuds/Maxwell_Daugherty
Summary: The fire left her without a family; the system left her without hope; and the world left her without a home.She doesn't know how she ended up in Los Angeles, but (Y/N) does know how to fight - fight for her life. Perhaps others can learn to give her what was taken away.
Relationships: Daveed Diggs & Reader, Daveed Diggs/Emmy Raver-Lampman, Emmy Raver-Lampman & Reader





	Searching for Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In survival, the rule of threes notes that one can survive for 3 hours without shelter in harsh environments. She should find a warm place soon if she wants any chance at living.

The midnight wind and downpour howls in my ears, unrelenting, knocking my brightly-coloured metal and plastic shelter around violently. For a moment, I become convinced that the seventh day may never arrive.

I know all too well of vulnerability - facing a force you have no chance of defeating; flailing in desperation for a ledge to hold on to, or a hand to grab. The fleeting will to rummage through Pandora's box, giving one last flicker of energy, one last pathetic punch. A remnant of fear echoes through my mind.

My hands, with a slight greyish-blue tint, begin shaking, either from unpleasant memories or mild hypothermia. A woman, no younger than 35, had called the police earlier that day, snarling insults and bearing her metaphorical teeth. I had cowered and hid like a rabbit being hunted, and managed to avoid them, returning once the sun had set for the evening, readying myself for the angry overcast clouds to make good on their promises.  
I shouldn't have been surprised.  
In such a wealthy neighbourhood, they obviously have nothing better to do than shoo away scoundrels and impoverished itinerants from public parks. No theft or violent crime, just the occasional adolescent disturbance or beggar, tainting the facade of a perfect American neighbourhood - the type where every mother knows everyone's name, spending her free time cooking, cleaning, or sewing; the type where the father goes to work at his 9 to 5, coming home at 8:00, reeking of alcohol. The type where behind the door lies an echo chamber of disfunction, alcoholism, abuse, and depression.

A vicious bark of thunder, a blinding flash, and a series of clanking of chains draw me back to the present.

My hands have gone numb, and pain has begun to radiate out from my stomach, accompanying weak growls. I release a small noise of discomfort myself. I haven't eaten anything in about three days, possibly longer, rainfall doesn't lend itself to good scavenging - rotting and repulsing food.

I blink away the burning in my weary eyes, and rub aches from my feet. Despite the lack of socks and shoes, they have shrivelled up, leaving a trail of large patches of dead skin, as well as blood from small abrasions and cuts. I need to dry them off, and hopefully find a 24-hour chemist in the next day or two, people are less likely to call the police in the earliest hours. _Anti-septic and bandages should do, I've probably still got enough money._

Another rattle makes me jump.  
The storm shows no intention of slowing down, making it my best option to hope I can find a vacant house. I pull the makeshift blanket over my shoulders, hiding my face with the hood, as well as my veteran backpack, containing anything I can find to fulfil my most basic needs. I make my way through the parking lot, and walk down towards the main road, hoping to garner my bearings. A rather niche brown sign informs me that my 'place of residence' for the past few hours is called the 'Van Nuys Sherman Oaks War Memorial Park'. _The more you know._ It's probably close to around one in the morning, so I would be surprised to pass any pedestrians or cars.

I remember some rather lifeless-looking houses I passed a couple of hours ago, and begin retracing my steps.

_Left;_

Apartments and businesses line the road, _'Comfort Care Dental' - might have what I need._ I bookmark the place in my mind, intending to come back during closing hours, and in less harsh weather.

_Third right;_

Large intersection, _probably busier during the day._ I should avoid this area during peak hours.

_1.5km, walking away from park;_

Apartments continue on, gradually changing to houses.

As I inch closer to yet another T intersection, I notice a particularly imposing building, rising up above it's neighbours, segregated by tall hedge and concrete walls. From what I can see over the fence, it looks like a white modern farmhouse, trimmed with black. _That's what I'm looking for; whoever bought this behemoth must have some serious cash stashed away._ Reaching in to my trusted backpack, I pull out a small lock picking set and make quick work of the corner gate. _Best $6 I ever spent._ The unobstructed view allows me to further observe my surroundings.

A segmented concrete path leads to the sides and front door, of which, is painted black, framed by thin, tall windows. The rest of the yard is bright, well-maintained grass, with small trees either side of the entrance and variously sized garden beds against the front walls. The left windows look in to what appears to be an office, with plush seats and posters, as well as an expensive desktop computer. The right windows, separated in to panels, span the majority of the wall, showing a stylish seating area with a mustard coloured couch, hanging egg chairs, and a marble fireplace. It's even better than I thought.

My eyes drift to above the fireplace, where a framed series of large black-and-white photographs hang. _A couple. Must be the owners._ Unimportant. I need to figure out the best way to get in.

Most sensors will be situated around the front door, so I could probably get through the window panels with a little bit of patience. I make my way to the right side of the front yard, comforted by the fact that if I need to enter with a small amount of force, the harsh rain would almost certainly mask the sound to the neighbours.  
I step around the tree and small garden bed, closely inspecting the windows. It looks like they don't open, embedded into the wall. _Could always try the back._

I move down the side of the house, entering in to a serene pool and deck area. The first half is concrete accented with gravel, surrounding a waterfall pool with seats in the shallow area, with a grill just to my right. This leads into a raised wooden deck, with a fire pit, various seating and standing umbrellas, and a drape-covered cabana. None of the lights are on. _That's a good sign._


End file.
